


Transubstantiation

by Decepticonsensual



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 13:24:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13249131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decepticonsensual/pseuds/Decepticonsensual
Summary: Fragging a borderline deity has to be a sin... doesn't it?





	Transubstantiation

It isn’t  _forbidden,_ and this is what Windblade finds herself clinging to.

Granted, she does realise that the reason there’s no rule is that no one – no Camien, at least – has ever conceived of doing what she’s done.  Up until a few months ago, no one would have even dreamed it was  _possible._ The lineage of Primes was an article of faith, as was the existence of Cybertron itself.  It wasn’t that you weren’t  _allowed_ to frag one; the very idea was simply a strange mismatching of concepts, like the thought of eating a nebula. Or sucking off Solus Prime as she worked at her forge.

Windblade giggles at that, a little hysterically, and the sleeping form in the berth beside her stirs.  “Windblade?  Is everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine,” she murmurs, stroking one hand down his windshield.  She is proud of herself – a little perversely, perhaps – that her fingers no longer tremble when they stray close to the seam of his chest.  It has taken some discipline.  If she shutters her optics, she sometimes fancies she can still feel a trace of heat there, curling in the empty space beneath his plating, where the holy Matrix once dwelled.

“I had a dream about you,” Optimus rumbles.  It could just be his way of flirting, but in that deep, portentous voice, it sounds as though he’s about to reveal a prophecy that came to him in a vision.

“Oh?”

“Mmmm –” and oh, okay, it  _is_ flirtation, judging by the thick fingers that just came up to play with her transformation seams. Windblade’s ventilations hitch.

It  _isn’t_ forbidden.  That doesn’t mean it wouldn’t scandalise most of Caminus, if the secret ever came out.  (Windblade tries not to think of the Mistress of Flame.)  But –

Soft, breath-damp metal brushes the most sensitive part of her wing. Windblade chokes off a groan and looks down.  Optimus’s mask is off, dangling casually from one hand, as if uncovering the face of a god is no more miraculous than shucking a bit of protective gear at the end of a long day.  The other hand cups her thigh, as his lips press against her aileron with something like reverence.

_But I’m a Cityspeaker.  If anyone on Caminus is allowed to draw close to mystical beings – to touch the most intimate parts of them, to learn their secrets – that falls to us._

It’s not the same thing, and she knows that, but it lets her make some sense of things, as she traces the shape of the Prime’s mouth, and he suckles on her fingers.

She pushes him onto his back, gently.  He goes without protest, and this, now – to hold a god down and ride him – surely this _must_ be sacrilegious.  Windblade should be horrified at herself.  She can’t seem to manage it, not with her back arching and Optimus beneath her, interlacing his fingers with hers and moaning as if he might shake apart.

Windblade doesn’t speak.  But Optimus does, and it is the one thing that feels truly wrong in all of this – that he makes  _her_ name sound like a prayer.


End file.
